


First Day On A Brand New Planet

by jilyandbambi



Series: The Ward of Naboo Series [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: (canon-compliant), Abuse, Anakin's Terrible Childhood in Slavery™, Angst, Child Abuse, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death, Physical Abuse, Slavery, attempted suicide, eating issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-09-24 07:46:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9711998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jilyandbambi/pseuds/jilyandbambi
Summary: The One Where Anakin is taken in as a ward of Naboo after being turned away by the Jedi Council.First part of a series





	1. Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> I start playing a few innocent ask games on Tumblr, and suddenly I have a new AU on my hands--whoops! Well, people asked for it, here it is. I cheated a little with this one, and the chapter that follows it, as they're both based on answers to asks I received on Tumblr, with a few lines taken directly from them. Except this chapter, and the one that will follow it (which WILL BE UP TOMORROW, I PROMISE) are both longer and sadder (IMO) 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who sent me asks and championed the idea of this AU from the start. You're the reason this thing exists in the first place, and I do hope it doesn't disappoint <3
> 
> For those of you who have been wondering about WSABH--it's coming gang! I know I've been saying that for literal months now, but I really mean it this time. I was writing chapter 5 as I was writing this little ditty write here. It'll be up SOON, as in this week if I can help it! Along with another project I've been working on for a while now! 
> 
> And that being said, happy reading :)

Master Obi-Wan had forgotten to tell Anakin where he was sending him when he put him on the transport, but he hadn’t needed to. There was only one place left for Anakin to go now that Master Obi-Wan and the rest of the Jedi have decided they don’t want him; back home to Tatooine. To the junk shop. To Watto.

Anakin wants to be upset with Master Obi-Wan, and with Master Qui-Gon, especially, for tricking him. For getting his hopes up. For making Anakin think he had an out, an escape. A chance at something more than sand and dust and misery. But really, it was Anakin’s fault for getting so full of himself in the first place. He should have known better. He should have learned by now.

(He never learned. He can’t. His head was too full of sand and sawdust and grease for him know anything but how to fix things and fly, Watto always said. And thank his lucky stars he was so good at those two things, because otherwise…)

When he was very young, one of Gardulla’s guards had told him that the only way for a slave to ever get out of their chains was if they did it in pieces. Anakin hadn’t believed him then. It was true that he’d never actually known anyone personally who had escaped their lot in life, but people did it. Of course they did. There were networks and smugglers and freedom trails and secret coded songs for a reason. Who were they helping if the only way people escaped was when their masters killed them? And so Anakin had been hopeful. And he had wished, and prayed, and hoped. And when the Jedi Master and the girl he’d been sure was an angel had come and offered to take him away on their ship, up, up, up into space like he’d always dreamed; to make him a Jedi, big and strong and powerful enough to take down the masters and free all the slaves, Anakin had taken their hands and leapt.

And now he was crashing right back down to the ground, because as it turns out, Watto had been right. Anakin was only built for two things, and Jedi-dom, wasn’t one of them. He was no good, the Council had said. Too sad. Too angry. Too afraid. Too dangerous. All new to Anakin; he was used to Watto telling him he was stupid. Sneaky. A rat. A liar. Agood-for-nothing. A waste of food and water. But angry? Sad? Afraid? Didn’t everyone feel these things at one time or another? Why did feeling them only make _him_ dangerous and not everyone in the whole galaxy? It didn’t make any sense!

Or did the Jedi know? Could they see? Jedi had special powers, right? Could they really see inside Anakin’s head? See everything? See all the times he had wished for Watto and Gardulla and all her cronies to die? See all the times he had thought about putting a transmitter inside Watto’s body while he slept, then threatening to blow him up to see how he liked it? Could they see? Could they see how Mom had gotten sick because she wasn’t eating enough, because she’d been giving most of her food to Anakin, after Watto cut their rations to save money? Could they see how Anakin had cried and cried and stopped eating, himself after Mom died, even though she had made him _promise_ to keep going, to live, for her, after she was gone? Could they see how he’d tried to make himself sick too so that he could die and be with her again? Could they see how, in the end, he was too hungry and too bantha-shit to go through with it, no matter how much he loved Mom and missed her and wanted to be with her? Could they see? Could they see every bad-mean-evil thought he’d ever had? How many did he have inside him to make him even worse than everyone else? How many did he have to make them all so afraid of him? Do only Jedi see it, or could everyone? Could Jira, and Kitster, and Watto, and Mom all see it, too?

Could Master Qui-Gon?

Again, Anakin _wanted_ to be upset with Master Qui-Gon. Wanted to hate him for telling Anakin he was special. That he was a “Chosen One.” That he had some big, wonderful destiny to fulfil. That he could be a hero. Anakin wants to be upset with Master Qui-Gon, but more than that he wants to know why, if all the other Jedi could see right away that Anakin was no good, why couldn’t he? Or had Master Qui-Gon been lying all that time? _Pretending_ to like him, so that Anakin would help him and Padmé get their hyperdrive so that they could get off Tatooine; and him promising to train Anakin was just a trade off. And maybe there was never anything special about Anakin to begin with, and all that Chosen One stuff was just part of the lie to get Anakin on his side. Maybe. The more Anakin thought about it, it seemed about as likely as anything. But in the end, he supposed it didn’t matter one way or the other. Because the fact was Master Qui-Gon was gone, and Anakin wasn’t going to be anything special, regardless. And besides all that, it wasn’t Master Qui-Gon who had given him hope, Anakin had done that to himself.

 _“Think practical, Ani. Think practical,”_ Mom would have said if she were there to hear all the amazing things Master Qui-Gon had told him he could learn to do, were he to allow him to train him. She would have made him see things as they were. Clear and reasonable and practical. She wouldn’t have bought into that Chosen One bantha-shit.

But she _would have been_ glad to see Anakin go, in the end. He’s sure of that.

Watto hadn’t been. He hadn’t wanted to give Anakin up at all. 

 _Can’t afford to sell the boy,_ he’d slurred, as Master Qui-Gon had tried to barter for him. _There ain’t no better mechanic on planet, and besides, he’s all nice 'n broke now his mother’s worm food. No way I can get another one to replace him! No way!_

It made Anakin sick to his stomach to think of what his Master would say to him when he showed back up on the doorstep of the shop, empty-handed with his tail between his legs and nowhere else to go. He couldn’t bear it. Not when he’d be hearing it all first hand soon enough. Best to think of something else while he still can. Just sit back and enjoy being in space because he’s sure it’ll be a while before he’s back on a ship again. Flying by transport isn’t as fast or as fun as flying by yacht or by starfighter, but Anakin is in no hurry.

Master Obi-Wan had had him sit up front by the conductor when he’d put him on the ship, and had asked the young Twi-lek woman to keep an eye on Anakin, and to help him off when it was his stop. The woman seemed nice enough and had been by twice now since they’d taken off to check on Anakin and to ask him if he needed anything. But she has a job to do, and so she quickly gets annoyed with him after he gets up from his seat and starts following her around on her rounds, asking her questions about her job and the transport ship and how many planets she’s been to now and whether she’d like to be a pilot instead of a conductor and if he can help her do her rounds because he’d really, really like to see more of the ship, please, if that’s alright? and makes him go sit back down until it’s his time to get off.

He goes back to his seat and sits down, disappointed and bored, until the grandmother beside him tells him he has a sweet face and gives him a candy. And then he notices that the old Zabrak man sitting next to him is reading a podracing holomag. Excited, he pokes the old man in the arm and brags to him that he won the Boonta Eve Classic in the racer he built himself, and the man musses his hair and starts telling him all about his days touring the galaxy as a Hall of Famer. Anakin listens, enthralled at all the man’s stories, and he tells him that he must be the luckiest man in all the galaxy. The man smiles, musses his hair again, and gives him a candy, too.

Grouchy conductor aside, the people here in the Core are so much more friendly than they are back home, another thing Anakin’s gonna miss about it, once he’s back on Tatooine.

Though his situation hasn’t changed one bit, the candy and the stories have made him not feel so bad about it. He’s right back where he started, sure, but he’s still the best mechanic in the galaxy. He’ll be okay. Watto will take him back, and he’ll be a slave again, but he’s lasted this long, Anakin figures he’ll be okay.

He eats his candy (slowly, so as to make it last for a little while after the trip is over) and stares out the viewport and tries to guess the names of all the planets as they zip by.

Hosnian Prime (maybe), Xo (he thinks that’s what color it is), Geonosis (or maybe Corellia?), and…Naboo! He knows that one for sure!

The ship pulls further into the beautiful blue planet’s orbit as it looks like the ship is preparing to make a stop there, and Anakin’s stomach is all cool and tingly as he remembers his short time there, with Padmé. Remembers her curly brown hair and her smiling brown eyes, and her soft, soft, of-course-she’s-a-queen-how-else-could-they-be-so-soft? hands that had held his and hugged him and had stayed with him all night on the long ride to the Core so that he wouldn’t be scared, even though she herself was sick with worry for her people and her planet. Remembers her face, her words, when he’d given her the gift he’d made for her.

_It’s beautiful, Ani, but I don’t need this to remember you. My caring for you will always remain._

Had she truly meant it?

The tingly feeling gets worse and Anakin feels so warm all of the sudden, and he _knows_ he shouldn’t—knows how stupid he’s being for even thinking it when he knows for a fact where he’s headed. But for a moment he imagines it’s to Naboo that he’s _really_ going, and that Padmé _(No—her_ handmaidens _! She’s a_ Queen _, sleamo, she couldn’t stop her whole day for slave scum like you!)_ —Padmé’s handmaidens, then—would be there and they’d tell him Padmé told them she misses him very much and wants him to stay close to her forever, so they're going to help him find a new job and a new place to live here on Naboo, and he never has to go back to Watto and that horrible old junk shop ever again.

Stupid.

Wishing for impossible things is stupid kid’s stuff. If Anakin weren't dumber than a mound of bantha shit, like Watto always said, he’d have learned by now. He’d have toughened up. He’s gotta be better than this. He had his chance and he blew it, and there won’t be another. So if he wants to survive he’s gotta follow Mom’s advice and _Think practically, Ani._

The conductor is at his side, all of the sudden, tapping him on the shoulder and taking him by the hand, and Anakin’s confused because this can’t be right. Surely, Master Obi-Wan would have remembered to tell Anakin that he was going to Naboo instead of back home if that were the case. He tries to tell the conductor this, but just she sighs, exasperated, and says his ticket says “Naboo,” hadn't he bothered to read it? He’s too embarrassed to tell her he can’t read at all and afraid of what might be waiting for him when he reaches the platform, so he tries dragging his feet, but the conductor has a tight schedule to stick to, so he’s getting off whether he likes it or not.

Anakin would rather not. Wishing is stupid. Hope hurts. And the only thing he can think of that could be waiting on the platform for him would be a wish, a hope almost as big and stupid and painful as when he’d sat beside Mom and prayed, prayed, _prayed_ for her to get well again like she always did, even after the medicine woman had come to take her away.

The conductor steers him along by his shoulders and Anakin closes his eyes and convinces himself that it’s Watto who’s waiting for him. Who’ll yell and scream at him for making him waste the time and money coming all the way out here to fetch him. Who’ll give him the beating of his life once they get back to the shop for conspiring with the Jedi against him. Who’ll threaten to sell him to a brothel for being such a stupid, stupid waste of flesh and water. Anakin closes his eyes and tells himself to be smart. Be strong. _Think practically, Ani._

The chilly Naboo air hits Anakin’s face as soon as they step out onto the open platform and the familiar scent of _green_ is everywhere, and there are voices shouting and people sprinting past them and scooping up their loved ones, laughing and shouting and gushing and none of them are here for him because he’s stupid, dangerous, Mother-killing slave scum that not even the kindest, bravest, most selfless people in the whole galaxy want anything to do with and–-

There’s a pair of arms around him, and they can’t be Watto’s because even if he wanted to hug Anakin, his arms aren’t long enough. 

But there’s a pair of arms around him, and the conductor is gone, and Anakin’s eyes are all scrunched up because even though he knows who it is, he’s still too afraid to look. But he doesn’t need his eyes to know it’s Padmé he’s squeezing back; Padmé who’s running her soft, soft, she-Must-be-an-angel-her-hands-are-so-soft fingers through his hair, and even though most of him just wants to stay here in her arms in the middle of this crowded transport platform, forever, the _stupid, stupid_ part of him that hopes and wishes and reaches for things he knows aren’t meant for him is already thinking about the shop Padme’s going to set him up in, with a new Master who maybe likes him well enough to actually pay him. And even if it means leaving Padmé’s arms to go somewhere far away from her, Anakin thinks that’ll be alright. It’s sure to be better than anything he could have hoped for. Better than where he thought he was headed, for sure. 

Padme’s pulling away now, and Anakin doesn’t feel so bad for crying because she’s a little teary-eyed too. But she seems so very sad for him, so maybe he had it wrong and this is just a pit stop. She just wanted to see him off one last time and then it’ll be back on the ship. Back home to Watto, who may not even take him back, who might make good on all these years of half-threats and sell him to a brothel for helping Master Qui-Gon swindle him, and why is he so stupid? Why does he never, _ever_ learn?

Padme’s on her knees (she shouldn’t be kneeling. Queens aren’t supposed to kneel) so that she’s eye-level with him; still crying, but she’s got a careful grin on her face now as she reaches out to thumb away the tears spilling down his cheeks. Anakin wants to ask her what’s going on. Why she’s smiling now when before she’d been so sad. He wants to ask her about the place she’s found for him to work; if it’s a nice place. If it’s near the palace and if maybe she’ll come visit him sometimes when she’s not too busy. He wants to ask her if–if it’s not too much trouble, and his new Master allows it–if maybe he could even come see her sometimes, too. He wants to ask her for another hug. 

But his voice is all clogged up with what feels like tears and a huge wad of snot and he’s afraid if he tries to open his mouth a giant booger bubble will come bursting out in the place of words. And besides, Padmé looks like she’s ready to say something anyway. She’s the Queen, she should go first. 

“Would you like to come home to the palace with me, Ani?” she asks softly, her voice cracking just a little bit over the lump in her throat. No more tears now, Anakin is glad to see. Just a big, humongous grin ready to split her face wide open. Anakin doesn't know what to say. No, that’s not true. He knows exactly what he wants to say, only he can’t get it out. The words are coming in so fast they’re tripping over themselves inside his head. 

_Yes! Yes! Please, yes! More than anything! I’ll be the best mechanic or stableboy or floor scrubber or shit shoveler or whatever you’ve ever had! I’ll be devout. I’ll do anything you ask as long as you’re there to tell me what to do! You don’t even have to hug me or speak to me or even look at me ever again if you don’t want to! Just please, please, don’t ever give me away!_

“I’ve had the chefs prepare a special welcome dinner just for you,” she continued over a slight hitch in her voice that could have been either a hiccup or a laugh. “Have you eaten? Are you hungry?”

She held out a hand for him to take, and Anakin would’ve right away if his stupid heart wasn’t pounding so hard. He took a half-step back, hugging his middle. He _was_ hungry, but at the same time, his stomach was full to bursting. Buzzing, even. All fluttery like it had been before when he’d first caught sight of the small blue planet through viewport of the ship, only stronger, warmer like he had swallowed a live flame and it had gone all the way down into his belly and nothing he or anyone else did could ever put it out. 

There’s a name for this feeling, Anakin’s sure of it, but he doesn’t have time to try and figure it out now because his hand is in Padme’s and his eyes are wide open and dry and every part of Naboo is so kriffing _beautiful_ , even crowded transport stations, and Padmé was here to collect him after all, and she brought Sabé and Yané, and they even look happy to see him too. And maybe there are only two things in the whole entire galaxy he’s ever been good at, and maybe he’s too slow to learn anything else, and maybe he’s also horrible and lazy and fearful and dumb and a liar and a cheater and selfish and _dangerous_ , and everything else Watto’s ever called him and the Jedi said they saw in him, plain as day; but the fluttery, buzzing, burning feeling inside his belly tells Anakin that maybe everything could still work out anyway, in spite of all that, because someone (and not just _someone_ , but the best person Anakin’s ever known, besides Mom) might just want him anyway, if he plays his cards right. 

Anakin would say that the feeling might be called hope; only he’s felt hope before, and it’s never felt this good.

 

 


	2. Appraisal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well friends, all I can say for myself is, never, ever promise a next day update, because real life will kick you in the teeth for your hubris! 
> 
> Shortly after posting chapter 1 I came down with a really bad virus of some sort that had me laid up for a while, and after that my personal life got really, really busy. I'm so sorry for faking you all out, but I hope you can all forgive me! 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who read, commented on, and left me messages of encouragements about this story on my Tumblr. You all make my life!

Anakin had been very small the first (and only) time he and Mom had ever gone to auction, but he remembers every minute of that day perfectly, as though it had only happened yesterday.

He remembers how, at the time, he’d been too little and stupid to understand why the news of their Master (their old-old Master, whose name Anakin couldn’t remember anymore) putting their slaves up for auction had Mom and all the other slave mothers so scared.

He remembers Mom trying her best to explain it to him; that Masters almost always want children more than they do women like her, who can’t have babies anymore. That the people who came to look at Anakin more than likely wouldn’t want to buy her. That Anakin would probably be going home to a different owner than Mom would be. That if that happened, they would likely never see each other ever again after that day.

He remembers how angry he had been with her after she’d told him this; how he’d screamed and kicked and hated her for being a liar, how he wouldn’t believe anyone could not want Mom when she was the best ever! How he’d refused to believe anyone could separate them; they were Ani and Mom, they were always together and they always would be! No one, not even a Master could split them up.

He remembers Mom letting him have his tantrum, ignoring the other mothers as they looked on disapprovingly and hissed at her to make him hush. Once he’d gotten it all out, she had pulled him into her lap, taken his pointer finger in her hand and guided him to draw a line with it from his hairline all the way down to his belly button. _Don’t forget what they’ve put inside us,_ she’d whispered to him, her voice wet and harsh against his ear. _You don’t have a skill of your own yet, they can decide they don’t want you whenever it suits them. If word gets around that you’re a difficult one, Ani…If they decide you’re not worth the trouble, then…_

He remembers that he hadn’t needed her to finish that thought. Even at that young age, he had seen more than enough to know good and well what happened to you if the Masters decided you were too much to handle.

He remembers hugging Mom real tight then, telling her that he loved her and that he was sorry for making her cry; assuring her that he would be sure to be on his very best behavior during the auction, but that he still didn’t think anyone was going to take him away from her. He remembers being able to tell right away exactly what Mom thought of that last part, but that she’d been too busy holding him and trying to stop crying to say anything more.

He remembers the sharp sting of betrayal he’d felt when they’d arrived at the auction pavilion and the head auctioneer had hardly bothered to inspect them before determining Mom to be out of her breeding years and Anakin big enough to be put up by himself. He remembers them tearing him out of Mom’s arms and chucking him into the children’s pen before she could even send a proper goodbye to him. He remembers climbing at the bars of the pen, screaming for her, until he’d felt her glare and remembered _What they put inside us_ and how Mom had only stopped crying once he’d promised to behave himself no matter what. He remembers how he’d quickly buried the rest of his screams deep, deep inside himself before the assistant’s baton could do it for him. He remembers watching, hopeless; helpless hands still clutching at the bars of the pen, as Mom was dragged away.

He remembers how hard it had been to keep his promise; to keep the screams down inside, even as the pen became hotter and stickier as it was packed with more and more children. He remembers them all crying, like him, but only on the inside, as they’d been warned too. He remembers huddling together, struggling together to stay still and quiet. At once hoping to be bought and praying to be passed over every time they saw a hand reach in to pull someone out. The routine always the same, _Bend over and touch your toes. Jump up and down. Run in place. Stand still. Sit down. Stand up. Speak. “Yes, Master.”_

He remembers learning to breathe again when he found out that his new owners and Mom’s new owners were one in the same. He remembers how tightly he and Mom had clung each other as they’d both wept, Mom’s arms shaking so bad, Anakin was afraid she’d drop him. He remembers how that had been the first time he’d ever realized how truly lucky they were to have each other, how close they came every day to not being so lucky, and how really, when he thought about it, the auction wasn’t even over. It would never be.  

He remembers how panicked that realization had made him. How it had made everything suddenly go wrong so soon after it all had gone right. How the screams he’d been holding in all that time had broken free and taken control and had made his arms and legs start working on their own, and how he couldn’t see, _he couldn’t see_ , the whole world melting away like pieces of scrap metal baking under the high suns. How everyone was yelling, but their mouths weren’t moving, and the next thing he knew, one of the men who had bought him had had him by the neck, as he’d railed at the auctioneer, _Swindler! The boy is no good! Give us Lady Gardulla’s money back before we cut out your tongues!_

He remembers Mom’s shriek, her own pain shooting through him in turn when the auctioneer wouldn’t give in and so the man had reached for Anakin’s detonator. How she had thrown herself at the man’s feet and begged, _Please sir, please! He’s not usually like this! He’s a good boy! A good listener! A good worker, and he’s still so little. He’ll learn to be better, I swear it! Please, sir, have mercy!_ He remembers how the man, in turn, had spat at her and thrown Anakin down into the sand she lay hunched in, grumbling about how she’d better see to it, or they would all end up in pieces for such a waste.

Anakin remembers how Padmé had been surprised to learn he was a slave that day they’d met in Watto’s shop. How she’d explained to him that slavery was illegal in the Republic, where she came from, and how he could only shrug at that, embarrassed at _knowing_ but not really _knowing_ what exactly she meant. How it had sounded weird and foreign rolling around in his head, how it had tasted strange when he’d tested it on his tongue, and so he hadn’t trusted it.

(He still doesn’t, if he’s being honest.)

Not that it should matter, anyway. Not that any of this should matter. Not that he should be thinking about a thing that happened so long ago when it’s right now, and Padmé’s come for him, and only a few minutes ago he’d been so unbelievably relieved at that. Not that he should be thinking _the auction is never over,_ over and over and over again to himself as he rides along in Padmé’s speeder, and she’s practically glowing she’s so happy, as she points out this statue and that landmark and _where we are right now is actually on the route of the parade we had after you saved the planet, Ani, don’t you remember?_

He does, he nods. He does remember. He remembers everything.

He’s not supposed to be a slave anymore, because that was the deal and this is the Republic, where Padmé said slavery isn’t allowed. But the deal was also that he’d become a Jedi, and he wasn’t going to be that anymore, so they’d given him to Padmé, who did want him, Anakin was sure. _But for what?_ She hasn’t said for what, yet. Anakin wants so badly to ask, but he doesn’t know how without coming off as impertinent. He can’t have her thinking him that. He’s gotta play this right. If he screws this up, if Padmé ever realizes he’s no good and not worth the trouble, then it’s back to Watto, and if Watto doesn’t take him back, then…

_The auction’s never over_

Padmé’s hand on his shoulder makes him jerk up. She’s got a worried look on her face that makes Anakin realize he’s stopped responding to her. His cheeks warm and he mutters an apology about the city being so beautiful he’d just gotten sucked in. She squeezes his shoulder and smiles and believes him, and again, the live flame in Anakin’s belly burns bright as Padmé wraps an arm around him and picks up where she left off.

Her voice is smooth and lilting like a lullaby; steady like water, and Anakin sinks into it, letting her carry him away. He drifts and drifts and she finds him, wrapping him up in short, half-interesting tidbits about the history of her homeworld and its people. (He drifts and drifts, and for a moment, Anakin imagines another pair of arms around him, the steady hum of a heartbeat beating beneath his ear, the rough, scratchy material of her shift itching his cheek as she hums an old tune while tending the newest scrapes he’d gotten at work today. A kiss for every cut; they’re at the end of their water ration for the week. But he’s done good lately, so Watto’s promised them double…)

That’s it then. Anakin’s determination comes back alive inside the quiet spell of Padmé’s voice, coiling around his heart like a link of iron chains. If he won’t be a Jedi, then he’ll be hers’, whatever she means him to be, and surely she must mean him to be something. There’s just gotta be something…

Some way to make sure this one last chance doesn’t fall through. Some way to convince Padmé that he’s worth keeping for good.

_What can you do? What can you do?_

_Think practically, Ani._

_Practically…_

A list.

A list is a good way to start.

_Reasons Padmé Should Keep Me:_

_—I can fix pretty much anything_

_—I can fly pretty much anything, too_

She already knows all that, though. So what else? He’ll need more than just those to convince her. What else is there? What else? What else? What else? Think!

The speeder pulls through the palace gates before anything else comes to him; but Anakin’s still half-hopeful and foolishly determined when Padmé takes him by the hand and leads him out of the speeder, Sabé and Yané bringing up the rear behind them as they make their way up the palace steps. There are human men in fancy robes waiting for them as they come into the grand entrance hall, their faces waxy and pinched. They swarm Padmé on sight. _Your Highness, Your Highness! Urgent business, Your Highness! The Prime Minister of Hosnian Prime requests an audience with you, immediately._

No, it can’t wait. No, it can’t be postponed. Yes, they are aware that she purposefully rearranged her entire week’s schedule to have this one evening free, but the Prime Minister is insistent, and if this is about Naboo’s request for aid, then--

Padmé pulls a face and turns to Anakin and apologizes several times before allowing Sabé to haul her off to her rooms to change for her meeting; leaving instructions behind with Yané to see to him and to “tell the others to start without us,” she doesn’t know how long she’ll be. And then she’s gone, every step she takes away from him leaving Anakin feeling smaller and smaller until he’s nothing but a grain of sand, a speck in the corner of Padmé’s eye. Only Yané’s hands bracing his shoulders keep him from running after her. The gesture is kind, and Anakin is  grateful for it, but really, it doesn’t help much.

_Reasons Padmé Should Keep Me… Reasons Padmé Should Keep Me…_

The Hutt palaces on Tatooine have got nothing on Theed, with their mud brick construction and little teeny-tiny windows with barely enough light to crack through. Anakin can remember Gardulla’s palace, all dark and dank and suffocating. Closed off and cramped despite its massive size. There had barely been enough room to cough, and he’d been so small then, and Gardulla’s household had hardly been the size of Padmé’s.

Here, light shone in through humongous windows that stretched from floor to ceiling, making the whole place glitter like gold. Paintings and sculptures that had to cost more than all the slaves on Tatooine put together lined every wall and even the floors, the floors were practically works of art themselves. Not a speck of dirt or sand or dust to be found anywhere. You could probably eat off of them were it not for the expensive looking people passing you by in every direction you turned. And even with everyone seemingly on top of one another, scurrying this way and that, the place still feels enormous. People can breathe here. People can _live_ here.

If Anakin were to tell Mom or Kitster about this place, he imagines neither of them would believe him. He imagines that not even Jabba the Hutt himself could ever imagine such splendor. And it’s that thought, that last one, that makes Anakin feel like even less than a grain of sand, if that were even possible. After all, if this place was too grand for one of the richest beings in all Hutt space, where could a grease rat from some crusty old junk shop hope to fit in?

_Reasons Padmé Should Keep Me_

_—I can… build protocol droids?_

_—Or, well…_ a _protocol droid._

_—Just the one, actually_

Anakin winced.

He had been going to build Mom a protocol droid to help her out around their home. But then Mom died, and Watto decided that the hut he’d given them to live in would better serve him as a cheap place for off-worlders to stay when they couldn’t afford the rooms at the cantinas. It’s not like one little slave kid needed a whole place to himself, after all. Anakin had tried his best when Watto had come to clear out their hut, but he hadn’t been able to hide C3PO from him, and in the end, the droid he’d named as the third member of his and Mom’s family had ended up getting sold on the cheap to some moisture farmer who’d wandered by the shop a few weeks later.  

(Watto had also found the scanner Anakin had been working on, too, that day. He still has trouble walking sometimes from that one. He hopes Padmé hasn’t noticed.)

Anakin’s heart sinks even lower. One little old protocol droid that he hadn’t even been able to finish won’t be enough to impress Padmé. Especially since she probably has professionals who could build them for her. But he’s running out of options, not to mention time. He doesn’t know when Padmé will be back, but he needs to have something ready for her by then, just in case…

_Reasons Padmé Should Keep Me…Reasons Padmé Should Keep Me…_

_—I’d never take things out of her trash_

_—I’d never try to run away from her. I’d never even want to_

_Stupid! That isn’t a selling point. You can’t sell yourself on things you’re not even supposed to do in the first place!_

_Okay, scrap that one and start over._

_Reasons Padmé Should Keep Me…Reasons Padmé Should Keep Me…_

Before Anakin can start another list, though, Yané rounds them around yet another corner and brings them to a sudden stop in front of a pair of double doors. Gripping the golden handles in both hands, she turns to him, a wide, expectant grin lighting up her face, and asks him if he’s ready. _For what?_ he asks.

For this.

The doors swing open and behind them stands a long, elegantly dressed banquet table laid out with more food than Anakin’s ever seen in his entire life. Bread and soup and meat and more fruits and vegetables than he knows the names of, and that’s only the stuff he can identify! Everything is arranged so strangely. Strange in a good way, that is. They did something really wizard with the fruit to make it look like a bouquet of flowers, and they did the same with the vegetables except they’ve been molded in the shape of a starfighter. Anakin can’t help but oggle at it. They certainly don’t do food like this on Tatooine. Who has the time?   

It’s all just so bright and colorful, is the thing. So big and robust and healthy looking. Fresh. That’s the word. He never knew food came this way before. They don’t get it this fresh on Tatooine. Especially if you’re not rich. By the time produce gets to the markets Watto can afford to shop at, it’s mostly all withered and picked over. Any food is good food, of course, but the fact that what he’s seeing now looks the way it does makes Anakin want to eat it that much more.

Masters don’t even eat like this on Tatooine. Not even the wealthy merchants, or Jabba himself could afford such a bounty, Anakin thinks. This is food from out of a dream. An image he’d conjured up out of the old stories Mom and the quarter grandmothers used to tell; food so rich you’d grow fat just from looking at it. The smell so divine you could feel it sliding down your throat before you’d even taken a bite. The kind of food he and Kitster would tease each other about one day tasting, once the day came where they were free and could finally beat it off their sand beaten, kriff-hole prison

Padmé had said at the transport station that she’d had her chefs prepare something special for him, but surely she can’t have meant all this? Not even Gardulla had ever had such a fine spread at any of the dozens of parties she’d thrown throughout the short time he and Mom had belonged to her. There’s nothing he could have done to earn a reward so fine. He doesn’t even have a job yet!…He doesn’t think.

_Reasons Padmé Should Keep Me_

_—I don’t eat much._

_—I can go at least 2 whole days without eating anything, actually. More, if I have to._

_—I can cook, too. Not like this, probably. But I can learn if she wants me to!_

Someone coughs loudly, tearing Anakin away from the food as he realizes then that he’d been so busy staring at it to notice he and Yané weren’t alone in the room. His eyes widen as he looks past the table for the first time to see the rest of Padmé’s handmaidens standing behind it, some giggling, all wearing matching grins identical to Yané’s as they come from around the table to greet them. Embarrassed, he goes to take a step back, but is stopped mid-way by Yané’s hands on his shoulders nudging him forward.  

Outwardly, the handmaidens are full of the same pristine composure they’d exhibited before, when Anakin had seen them in the presence of their Queen; but this time there’s a wide current of excitement billowing around them as they swarm him, nearly swallowing him up in turn. Anakin half-expects it to smother him, but instead it does the opposite. It’s light and tingly and it loosens him. Settles him, in almost the same way Padmé had on the ride here, and he finds that he doesn’t even have to fake the smile that sprouts across his face as Eirtaé, then Saché, then Cordé, Fé, Rabé, Dormé, and finally Mottée all come up to reintroduce themselves.

It’s Mottée who takes him by the arm to lead him over to the table, and it’s Eirtaé who pulls out his chair for him. Saché places a napkin in his lap, and it’s Yané who answers him when he asks why she’s doing that, while the others try not to laugh.

The place setting in front of him is the fanciest Anakin has ever seen. Plates and bowls rimmed with gold and painted so prettily he doesn’t even want to eat off of them, and more forks and spoons and knives than he knows what to do with. Just how much eating do they do out here in the Core, anyway? And how much drinking? He gets two cups, apparently, one big and one small. The sunlight streaming in from the windows makes rainbows dance inside them, Anakin’s almost afraid to touch them. But then Fé fills the smaller one with water all the way up to the top, and Anakin’s never seen water sparkle like that, he can’t help but bring it closer so that he can get a better look. Everyone laughs at that, and he isn’t sure why, but the room is still buzzing so he’s pretty sure that means he hasn’t done anything wrong. Fé holds out the second glass and asks him whether he’d like juice or soda. Anakin means to say “anything,” but what comes out is “everything,” and everything stops as he clamps his mouth shut and slumps over and inward into the gold-trimmed plates.

Nobody moves. The buzzing slows.

Someone’s hand smooths over his neck and shoulders, and Mottée’s voice tells him not to worry. It’s alright. This dinner is for him, after all, and he may have whatever he likes. Anything he likes. They insist.

Anakin doesn’t know what to say to that, but he’s saved from making a bigger fool of himself when the room goes back to buzzing again as hands dip in front of him and sweep the plates and bowls away; only to return them seconds later overladen with meat and veggies and stew and soup and Anakin doesn’t even get the chance to ask what else, before

“Try the Corellian broil, Ani, it’s farm-raised!”

“That’s enough starch, Cordé. He needs more greens!”

“Not sprouts though, little boys hate sprouts. My brother won’t touch them on pain of death!”

“Here, give him some berries to go with all that bread. He hasn’t had any fruit, yet.”

“Do you like muja fruit, Ani? You’re not sure? Try some, they’re my favorite!”

“How are you with spicy things, Ani? Do they hurt your belly?”

“Get him some of that fish stew, Rabé, the protein will be good for him.”

“Well don’t be shy, Ani, dig in!’

And Anakin does.

He eats and he eats and he eats until his belly feels about ready to burst. And then Saché fills his plate up again, and he eats some more.

He doesn’t know what this is, why they’re all watching him eat, instead of eating themselves. Why they hush him and pile more food onto his plate every time he tries to tell them he really doesn’t need to eat so much. Why they’re so interested in making sure he eats at all. Why nobody seems to have eaten a bite of their own meal because every time Anakin clears his plate, someone jumps up to get him more.

Anakin knows better than to make a fuss, but it just feels weird, is all; eating so much all at once, on plates that cost way more than him, drinking sparkling water from a glass he’d never have even been allowed to clean back home, while the Queen’s elegant Ladies look on him and gush, their own food going untouched and cold. If he were younger and dumber, he’d think he’d gotten transported into one of Mom’s old stories where the witch starts fattening up the unsuspecting child so they can eat them. And hey, if he were to be of any use to Padmé at all, it would have to be that, because he’s gone over everything he could think of again and again since she’d come for him and there’s nothing he can do for her that isn’t already being done by someone older or smarter or better than him, so being stuffed with food and ground up into meat pies makes a lot of sense when he thinks about it…

Except that Padmé’s an angel, not a monster. _He’s_ the dangerous one, not her. Of course a sleamo like him would try to drag the only person in the galaxy who still wants him down to his level.

“I think someone’s ready for dessert,” someone—Anakin thinks it might be Eirtaé—announces. He isn’t. He really, really isn’t. All the food they’ve given him is sitting right at the top of his throat and if he tries to put one more thing down there, it’ll get stuck. He knows it will.

But now there’s a huge slice of cake sitting in front of him, reminding him of Mom spooning the whole pot of porridge into his bowl. The two of them locked in a stalemate. Him, begging with his eyes for her to take just a little bit for herself, and Mom staring back at him, face heavy and stony in that way she knew always scared him because he couldn’t bare to see her so cold. Until finally, the exhaustion of the day’s work would overwhelm him, and he’d give in and shovel the whole thing in his mouth, quickly. Grunting loudly the entire time so that he couldn’t hear the weary, wistful sigh that escaped Mom’s lips as she watched him. Then hiding his eyes from her so that he didn’t have to see the fleeting flash of unrestrained longing cross her face as she took away his empty bowl.

He could still feel it all, though, all the same. There was never any looking away.

What would Mom think if she could see him now, about to turn up his nose at such fine food? What would she say if he told her that the thought of taking even one more bite made him want to be sick? What was being too full to eat, and how could he claim to be so when Mom had gotten skinnier and skinnier and skinnier until it hurt her too much to even lift her head? When right now, back home, Kitster was probably picking through Jira’s week-old scraps?

He picks up the fork and uses it to slice off a corner piece of the cake, and brings it to his mouth, just as the doors to the room creaked open.

Two things happen right on top of each other then.

Padmé—now back in the less formal clothes she’d worn to the train station—breezes into the room, red faced and slightly out of breath with apologies for not being there to start with them. Sabé trails in right behind her, grumbling about how Padmé hadn’t needed to run all the way here. Padmé shrugs her off as her eyes find Anakin and she smiles, and begins making her way over to the empty seat right next to him.

And Anakin throws up.

All over himself, thankfully. A small blessing that he hadn’t managed to ruin anything valuable. But it isn’t over quickly.

Eating too much food has never made Anakin sick before, and so despite all the warning signs, he’d thought he’d be okay. The sickness catches him off guard, and soon spirals from there. Surprise becomes shock. Shock becomes humiliation. And humiliation, panic. Panic leads to a great big mess of throw up and spit and snot and tears all pouring out of him at once. His throat and eyes burn and he tries to close them both off, but swallowing the food back down makes him choke, and twice as much comes back up, twice as painful. He can’t breathe for a moment and it makes his face sweat and his chest tighter. His arms and legs go numb and he won’t cry, he won’t cry, he won’t won’t won’t!

There are hands rubbing at his back and other hands wiping at him and voices shushing him and he goes to shake them off, but he’s too weak. He tries to say _I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I promise!_ But it all comes out as a wet, gurgling mess that sloshes onto his lap with the rest of his sick.

The room is buzzing with a different sort of energy now. Disgust and regret and worry and all Anakin can do is hang his head as two sets of hands take hold of his arms and hoist him out of his seat. It’s for the best that he couldn’t finish his list. No way Padmé would want to hear it now.

 _The auction’s never over,_ after all. How stupid he had been to think he could head it off.

His vision is still blurry from tears, but he can tell that it’s Mottée and Eirtaé who are bustling him out of the room and down the hall and straight out of the palace gates onto the street where he’ll have to find his own way back to Tatooine. He tries to stammer out an apology to them, at least, even if it’s too late to say it to Padmé, they can at least pass it on. But when he tries to talk, all that comes out is a pathetic little whine, and Eirtaé shushes him. Anakin doesn’t try to speak again.

They walk for a much shorter time than it took for him and Yané to get to the room where they’d had dinner in, and Anakin isn’t sure why until Eirtaé and Mottée drop his arms and he clears his eyes and sees that they’re now inside a ‘fresher.

Anakin doesn’t get why they’re here at first, until he remembers that this is Padmé he’s dealing with, and that she’s the kind of person who’d be nice enough to clean him up before giving him the boot. Duh.

He tries to make himself relax as Eirtaé runs water into the tub and goes to fetch some things from out of a nearby cupboard. Anakin knows there’s plenty of it here, but all the same, he doesn’t feel right about Padmé wasting her water on him when not only has he not done any work at all today, but he also wasted her food and wrecked her party. The shame almost makes him start tearing up again, but he bottles them up and throws them back down as Mottée starts helping him out of his clothes.

Anakin wants to tell her that he doesn’t need any help with this part, but he doesn’t trust himself to speak and he’s already been hushed once before already. He doesn’t need to get himself in any deeper, especially not when Padmé and the others are going to all the trouble of doing him this one last favor in the first place. So he keeps his mouth shut, his body limp, and his eyes glazed over as though he were back at auction again, just hoping to make it through without making another mess of things. But luck is not with him tonight.

The room is buzzing again, stronger than it had been before back in the banquet room. Louder. Angrier. It makes Anakin wobble a little as he comes back to himself and hears Eirtaé and Mottée shouting. At what? At what? What has he done now? He hugs himself as a chill runs through him and realizes that his tunics and leggings are gone, tossed in a heap over on the other side of the floor.

Oh.

There are fingers pressing into his back and along his arms, Eirtae is panicking and Mottée is fussing. He can hear them hurdling questions at him, but they’re too far away for him to answer, so he just shakes his head.

_Do these hurt you, Ani? Have they been hurting you this whole time? Are they old or new? Should we call a doctor? Eirtaé, call a doctor!_

One of them leaves, but the fussing comes back. Louder, and with more hands poking and pulling at him, turning him this way and that. They want to see, they want to see him. _Bend over and touch your toes. Open your mouth. Stand still. Sit down. No blemishes on this one, we’ll take him. How much you want?_ He has blemishes now. Tons of them. They paint the skin under his clothes in red and purple and _Lazy! Good for nothing! Watch your step, boy. You know how much they’d give me for you down at the cantinas!_ Will they still take him like this? There are plates here worth more than him. Whole and beautiful, with no cracks or stains. Queens don’t come with blemishes, their things shouldn’t either. The room is buzzing, the room is spinning. He can hear the colors on his arms and taste the cake he couldn’t eat. _I can’t believe someone could treat a child like this. How can he even stand to walk. He’s rail thin, look at him!_ Anger. Hatred. Worthless. _Swindler! The boy is no good, give us back Lady Gardulla’s money!_ Hot sand burns his feet and stings his eyes and the screams are coming loose again, he can’t hold them back anymore.

_Where is the doctor! Someone tell them to hurry!_

Quiet now, quiet. Still fuzzy, but still. And warm. So warm. He doesn’t have any clothes on, but Padmé’s arms are so warm. When did she get here? he tries to ask, but she won’t let him. He opens his mouth and she shushes him with her finger, long and dainty.

The universe comes back together inside Padmé’s arms. Anakin can feel himself again, whole and back in his body. He’s here, and the first thing he sees is the chain dangling around Padmé’s neck. He grabs at it, before he can remember himself, trailing his hand all the way down to where the pendant is. She lets him, and when he turns the pendant over in his hand, he sees why. She’d kept it. She’d really, really kept it!

“I meant to be wearing it when I came to get you,” she smiles softly. “But I was in such a rush. This whole day has been me running from one place to another. I’m so sorry, Ani.”

 _No_ I’m _sorry_ , he tries to say. _I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m--_ His lips are moving but he can’t use his words and she’s hushing him again.

“Shhh,” she says. “Just relax. The doctor’s coming now.”  

A zabrak man in a white coat comes into the ‘fresher then, flanked by two women in blue along with Rabé and Saché. The man, the doctor, Anakin thinks, bends down and lifts him out of Padmé’s lap and brings him out to the adjoining room. There’s a table set up there and two droids standing by it. Anakin likes droids, but these ones have needles sticking out at the ends of their pincers, so he’s not too sure about them. The doctor must be able to tell he’s worried, because he whispers _don’t be nervous_ as he sets Anakin down on the table. Anakin still is, though, until Padmé reappears and she and Mottée both take him by the hands as the doctor pulls up a stool and introduces himself.

His name is Doctor Guro, _can I ask yours?_

“Anakin Skywalker, sir.”

“It's very nice to meet you, Anakin,” Dr. Guro smiles. “Is it alright if I ask you some questions about how you got all banged up?”

Anakin pauses. Isn’t it obvious? Do they really need him to say? What are they going to do? What do they do to you here, when you’re all messed up like this? Padmé squeezes his hand, and he remembers _this is Padmé,_ and says

“My Master, sir.”

“Your Master,” Dr. Guro repeats back to him. “You’re from the Outer Rim, correct? You’re the little boy the Queen brought back with her from Tatooine. The boy who saved us all from the Trade Federation.”

Anakin blushes. He hadn’t saved anyone. He’d just blown up a couple of ships. He was lucky he hadn’t gotten in trouble for stealing one of the Queen’s starfighters. He shrugs and says, “I’m from Tatooine, sir. My Master owns a junk shop.” _That I’m probably going to be sent back to once all this is over,_ he doesn’t add.

“I see,” said Dr. Guro. “Anakin, I’m afraid my questions are going to get a little bit harder from here on out. Is that alright?”

Anakin squirms a little. Padmé squeezes his hand and tells him that he doesn’t have to answer anything he doesn’t want to. He looks back to Dr. Guro, who nods in confirmation.

“Okay.”

“Anakin, did your Master ever hurt you?”

That one isn’t so hard. He nods.

“Often?”

What’s often? He shrugs.

“Did they ever deprive you of food or water?”

Everyone’s deprived of food and water on Tatooine, unless you’re rich. He shrugs again.

“The Queen’s handmaidens said your dinner made you quite sick tonight, are you allergic to any specific foods? Do you get sick like this often?”

Anakin blanches. “NO!” He turns to Padmé, suddenly frantic. This might be the only chance he gets to explain. “No! I swear, Padmé I never do! I never, _ever_ get sick the way I did tonight. I don’t eat much at all, really. I promise! I promise!”

Padmé is solemn as she nods and lays a gentle hand on Anakin’s shoulder. “That’s fine, Ani, don’t worry. Please just answer Dr. Guro’s questions.”

“But do you believe me?”

“I believe you,” she says quietly. Then turns back to Dr. Guro, “Please continue, Doctor.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Dr. Guro said. “Anakin, my droids and I are going to do a quick examination on you. Is that alright?”

Anakin takes one look at the needles at the ends of the droids’ pincers and almost says ‘No,’ but the thought of what Padmé would say if he mouthed off to her doctor makes him nod his head.

Dr. Guro smiles and tells him thank you, as Padmé and Mottée help him lie back. They come around to the head of the table and stay at his side the whole way through, stroking his hair and telling him over and over again how brave he is, how well he’s doing, and that it’ll all be over soon. It is, and it doesn’t even hurt that much, even when the droids stick him with their needles.   

Afterwards, the doctor asks to speak to Padmé and the others in private while Mottée and Eirtaé take him back to his bath. This time, they have to put special medicine in the water to make him feel better. Anakin tries telling them that he feels fine, that the cuts and welts and bruises along his body hardly bother him anymore. But they start to get upset again, and so he just decides to just go along with it.

Baths are the most wonderful thing in the entire universe, after flying, that is. Anakin is convinced. Especially when you take them in a real bathtub, with real water. And bubbles! He hadn’t known real baths came with bubbles, too, but Mottée says that’s the best way to take a bath because they make them more fun. Anakin couldn’t agree more. He’s lucky that he’s the filthiest boy on the whole planet and has to stay in the bath and soak for forever, because the water is warm and the tub is made of something called marble that shouldn’t feel as nice as it does, but it _does_ , and Anakin never wants to leave it. When Mottée and Eirtaé tell him that he’ll get to have another one tomorrow, he just about starts throwing up again, and his surprise must give him away, because when they ask him what’s wrong, all he can say is, _You’re not throwing me out?_

“Throwing you out,” Eirtaé demands. “For what?!”

Anakin shrugs helplessly. Why are they playing dumb?

“For wasting dinner and ruining the Queen’s meal and throwing a fit,” he mumbles, looking down at his feet.

The two of them share a look. “Oh Ani,” Mottée says sadly. “That one was on us, not you. We should have known better.”

Eirtaé nods solemnly. “No one, least of all the Queen blames you for getting sick tonight. You can rest easy on that, Ani.”

Hearing that lifts a gigantic weight off Anakin’s chest, allowing him to hold himself up straight and finally release the breath he’s been holding in all this time. Padmé might still wants him, after all. He hasn’t blown his shot! Even after he’d wrecked her special dinner. Even after he’d thrown a fit. Even after she’d seen all his blemishes, she still thought he was good enough to keep around for now. He’s so relieved, he gives Eirtaé and Mottée each a great, big hug, forgetting that he was all wet. They don’t seem to mind, though. They laugh him off and continue with toweling him down.

After he’s dry, they rub him down with a special sort of cream that’s ice cold to the touch, but coats the welts along his back and arms like a blanket, and then they put him in sleep clothes. Anakin’s never had special clothes just for sleeping before, but he thinks this is another Core thing he could get used to. The ones they give him are big and fluffy and smell like what he thinks a garden might smell like. The sleeves hang off his arms, and Eirtaé has to roll up his pant legs so that he can walk in them. She and Mottée promise that he’ll get a whole new wardrobe tomorrow when he goes to see the royal tailor. Anakin tries to tell them that he doesn’t need new clothes, that the ones he has are just fine, and what could he have done to earn new clothes when he doesn’t even have a job yet? But he’s tired and the joy of just having had his first ever real bath, coupled with the fluffiness of the sleep clothes they’ve given him has made Anakin’s brain all dumb, so it all comes out in one long yawn as Mottée picks him up and carries him back out to the room where the doctor had examined him.

This is where he’s meant to sleep! he realizes only as he sees Mottée carrying him in the direction of the huge bed at the other side of the room. He’s too tired to fight it, but this new development makes him remember where he used to sleep, in the old storeroom at the back of the shop with no windows and the door bolted shut after Watto left for the night. 

He wonders what Mottée and Eirtaé would say if he asked them to leave the door unlocked.

It’s probably best not to risk it. Besides, this room has a window in it so it won’t be so bad, anyway.

He never knew a bed could be so squishy, it takes him by surprise when Mottée sets him down and he sinks right into it. He must do it really funnily, too,  because Mottée and Eirtaé both break out into giggles then. _Nice, isn’t it?_ Mottée says as she and Eirtaé drape the covers over him. They’re thick and heavy and sink him further into the bed. Tucked inside them, Anakin can hardly move, but that’s nice because it reminds him of sharing a bed with Mom; her curled around him, strong arms pressing him tightly to her chest. It wasn’t true, but in those moments he could pretend no one could touch him, no one could take him from his favorite place, the safest place; her arms. The feeling isn’t nearly the same, but the warmth almost is. He hadn’t realized how cold he’d been up until now.

 _Good?_ Eirtaé asks. He beams up at her and Mottée and before he can stop himself, tells them thank you very much, he hasn’t slept in a bed in a really long time. They frown. He says sorry. They tell him not to be, everything is going to be much better from now on. Anakin’s brain gets really, really stupid when he gets tired like this, because again, before he can stop himself, he blurts out _How?_

Mottée bops his nose and smooths back his hair, and says, “Just you wait.”

“The Queen has seen to everything,” Eirtaé adds as she readjusts the heavy blankets around him.

They leave him with that, alone in the dark in the great big bed in the great big room with the moonlight shining in through the enormous windows overlooking the bed. There’s a buzzing in the room again, light and fluttery and full. Anakin thinks it’s meant to comfort him, and it does, some. He certainly feels more hopeful than he did an hour ago, that’s for sure. But as he closes his eyes and settles back against the squishy pillows of the squishy bed, the very last thought that passes through his mind is, _the auction’s never over._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not going to promise when Chapter 3 will be updated, but I will say that there will be much more catharsis found in this final tidbit. 
> 
> As always, thank you all for reading and leaving comments and kudos-ing. I'm so very glad and grateful that so many of you love this story so much!


	3. Assurance

“I’m begging you to reconsider.” 

A heavy sigh--no, a heavy _snarl_ \--of exasperation. 

“You’ve been ‘begging me to reconsider’ for going on three days now. How many more times must I repeat myself? My decision on this is final. I want this matter dropped.” 

“But surely after everything that’s happened tonight you must see--” 

“--Sabé--” 

“-- _he needs more than we can give him--!_ ”

“ _Enough!_ ”  

Padmé’s shriek was punctuated by a fist slammed against the table of her vanity, causing the old thing to wobble and send a tray of hairpins spilling over onto the floor. 

Fé and Dormé, who up until that point had been prepping the Queen to retire for the evening, both jumped back, startled by her outburst. Recovering quickly, they took a second to shoot Sabé equally reproachful glares before collecting themselves and resuming their task of taking down Padmé’s hair for the night. Ignoring them, and the rest of their fellow handmaidens’ silent pleas not to rile up their Queen any further, Sabé bent down and gathered up the scattered pins and placed them back on their tray, then turned her attention back to Padmé. Keenly aware of Sabé’s glaring, the Queen kept her eyes fixed straight ahead into the mirror of her vanity, coldly refusing to acknowledge her. 

Sabé exhaled tiredly through her nose but remained otherwise unfettered. She’d been prepared for this. 

Needless to say, given the lengths Padmé had gone to to not only ensure that Anakin would be brought to live here, but also that she herself would be available to greet him in person and attend his welcome dinner, the subject of Anakin Skywalker was a delicate one for the Queen. That sweet little boy sleeping just a few doors down from the Queen’s own private chambers meant the galaxy to her—to them all, really. But with Anakin, Padmé especially was like a mother bird with her hatchling; bound and determined to shelter him under her wings. To sit on him, if need be, lest anyone dare try and harm him ever again. 

She had been in fine form when, just a two days ago, Knight Kenobi had contacted the palace, informing the Queen and her aides that his last bid to try and convince the Jedi Council to allow him to train Anakin had fallen through, and that per the Council’s instruction, the boy would be back on the next transport to his homeworld the following standard day, unless Her Majesty had any objections. Heart set on saving their homeworld’s little savior from an unconscionable fate, Padmé had leapt at Knight Kenobi’s offer to send Anakin to stay on Naboo, no questions asked on her part.  

And wasn’t that just like Padmé? To dive headfirst into her next noble crusade with only the frayed seams of a plan threaded together in her mind? Dragging Sabé along for the ride while staunchly ignoring the logic she tried so desperately to impart before all the ensuing calamity of the Queen’s latest scheme came crashing down around them. 

Typical. 

It should be noted that Sabé loves this about Padmé. Loves her heart. Loves her boldness. Loves her steadfast devotion to the people she cares for (which is everyone, as Padmé Amidala is the rare breed of individual who never forgot a face, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant). But with all that came more than a fair bit of recklessness. And while thus far, this unfortunate habit of hers’ has yet to lead Padmé into dire straits, Sabé was loathe to see her Queen and dear, dear friend’s luck run out now, especially on a cause so important. 

_Anakin_ was too important to treat the topic of his care with such naïveté.   

“You heard what Dr. Guro said,” she began again. Ignoring the looks of warning from Fé, Dormé, and the others. “He’s got a whole laundry list of health problems; malnourishment, dehydration, a weakened immune system, stress fractures that have never properly healed, _seizures_...”   

“He also said he’s going to work with us to develop a nutrition plan to help Ani’s body get used to eating full meals,” Yané piped up. “He might still have digestive problems for a while, but it shouldn’t be so bad so long as we don’t overdo it like we did tonight.” 

“And he gave him several shots during his examination, he should be alright for now,” Fé added. “It also shouldn’t be too hard to find him a physical therapist, too.” 

Padmé shot both of them a grateful look, then quirked an eyebrow at Sabé. _See?_ smirked the stinging glare in her eyes. Sabé groaned inwardly. Yes, that was all true, but why were none of them seeing the actual problem, here? 

“He’s been _abused_ ,” she tried again, flinching as the memory of the numerous welts and burns and bruises marring little Anakin’s half-starved body flashed before her eyes. The poor thing was nearly ruined with them, it must be constant agony for him…

“Surely you can’t mean to count that against him,” Padmé said lowly, a righteous edge sharpening her features. She stood up from the vanity then, arms crossed and jaw tight, coiled and poise to strike at the whatever next came out of Sabé’s mouth. 

“Of course not,” Sabé snapped. She doesn’t mean to count anything against Anakin, can’t they see that? _He_ wasn’t the problem here. “But he’ll need help with dealing with that, too.” 

“I have a cousin who’s a renowned psychiatrist,” Eirtaé offered loftily, in that too-posh tone of voice she often unconsciously took on when trying to offer up a reasonable solution (Likely one of the contributing factors that had cost her the election). “I’m sure she can recommend us someone who specializes in children.” 

Sabé stifled another groan. She’d been hoping to find an ally in Eirtaé, the only other one of them, save Sabé herself, who was never afraid to challenge their Queen. Of all the times for her to choose to side with Padmé. This just wasn’t fair. 

“ _There!_ ” Padmé thrust out a gratified hand in Eirtaé’s direction. “Are you satisfied now? Can we drop this? He’ll have everything he could ever need here.” 

Sabé inhaled sharply through her nose, and let her eyes drift shut for a moment as she prayed to the gods for patience. Opening them, she found every eye in the room on her, impatient for her to say her last piece and be done with it. She takes their impatience in stride and glares back, purposefully allowing her eyes linger for a moment on every single one of them in turn. 

On Yané, who couldn’t believe Anakin was so _tiny! Are you sure he’s nine years old? My seven-year-old sister’s got about three inches on him!_ Yané, who’d spent the entire ride back to the castle blatantly staring at Anakin, no doubt making the boy that much more nervous. 

On Mottée, the eldest of them at eighteen, and after Padmé, the most enthusiastic about bringing Anakin to live with them. Mottée, who’d left behind six younger siblings for whom she’d often assumed the role of tertiary caregiver, and yet still hadn’t known better than to overfeed a malnourished child. 

On Fé, who couldn’t even _look_ at Anakin without tearing up. Fé, who’d broken down during his examination and had to be taken out into the hall by Dormé because her whimpering was confusing the med-droids.

On Saché, who’d been raging since the fiasco at dinner. Saché, who’d been into minute six of her tirade when Eirtaé and Mottée had returned from putting Anakin to bed, ignoring all their pleas for her to calm down, please, remember, Anakin is trying to sleep just down the hall. _He’s afraid to even look at us, didn’t you see?!_ she’d raged on. _He kept his head down all throughout dinner. He FLINCHED when Mottée set a plate down in front of him! He was ready to apologize for being hungry! What in the nine hells did those people DO to him?!_

On Eirtaé, normally as rational and level-headed as Sabé herself. Eirtaé, who’d come back from tending to Ani all somber and shell-shocked. _He_ thanked _us for giving him a bed to sleep in_ , she’d added quietly, when Saché had paused to take a breath; that little kernel of information adding another four minutes and twenty-three seconds to the fuming redhead’s rant. 

On Rabé, forever the researcher, who'd started looking up childcare holobooks as soon as Padmé had announced that Anakin would be coming to live with them. Rabé, who was forbidden by her family to babysit any of her young cousins, after leaving them unattended one too many times. 

On Cordé, who talked about Anakin as though he were a newborn Loth-kitten. Cordé, who had a baby sister at home she used to love to dress up in cute little outfits and take holos of, as though she were her own little living doll. _He held the glass up to his face like he couldn’t believe it was real, she’d cooed. It was so adorable!_

On Dormé, the only one of them who didn’t have any younger family members at home; no little siblings or cousins or nieces or nephews to speak of whatsoever. Dormé, who’d frowned, ever so slightly, when Padmé had announced that they would be bringing Anakin to stay here at the palace but hadn’t had the courage to speak up and voice her discomfort.  

And finally on Padmé, who’d spent their entire trip back to the Core doting on the (admittedly adorable) little indigent she and the Jedi had picked up on Tatooine. Padmé, who, within minutes of demanding that Obi-Wan Kenobi send Anakin to them, post haste, had also managed to bully her Advisors into accepting that not only would a non-Naboo be coming to live in the palace for the remainder of her term, but that he would also be given a room inside the Queen’s private wing, where only Her Majesty’s handmaidens may come and go without prior invitation. Padmé, who still has yet to designate the role of Anakin’s full time caretaker to anyone, yet balks at Sabé for daring to question the logistics of the boy’s day-to-day care. 

And then Sabé thought of Anakin. Beaten and half-starved; three sizes too small for the rags he’d stepped off the transport in. Anakin, with his wide, wonder-filled eyes and obvious limp he tried so hard to conceal. Anakin, who, bless him, did his best not to walk as though every step he took pained him in one way or another, when anyone who looked at him for longer than a second could see it so plainly. After all, how could it not? (How could the purple-black bruises along his lower back and buttocks not render him immobile? How could the coarse fabric of the burlap shift he wore not chafe his mottled flesh? How could he manage to fix machines and build pod racers and pilot starfighters while suffering from chronic seizures? 

How could the Jedi refuse a boy with a heart as strong as his?)

And how could Padmé be shortsighted enough to fool herself into thinking she had the time to see to such a needy child’s full-time care between negotiating peace treaties and restructuring their planet’s economy? He’d become an afterthought, a burden. A novelty for the first few weeks of his stay, and then the audiences and the Parliament sessions and the paperwork would pile up, and before anyone knew it, it’d be _When was the last time someone fed Ani? I don’t know, last week?_  

No. It was harsh to say, but these were just the facts. Anakin needed more than them. He _deserved_ more than them.

Sabé locked her eyes on Padmé’s and pulled her shoulders back, wanting to be fully upright when she sealed her fate. 

“Everything he could ever need,” she repeated, voice deliberately soft, so as to smother the bite in her tongue. “Except a mother.” 

For a moment, time seemed to freeze as her words became almost visible, drifting through the air in slow motion and settling on every ear in the room, one at a time. Then, all at once, the eruption hit. They all struck out in unison, cutting over and across each other in their haste to plead their case in Padmé’s defense.

“Surely _eight of us_ can manage the task of one person, Sabé—“ 

“—Queen has already decided, Sabé, and she’s asked you several times to—“ 

“If we can run a planet, I’m sure we can handle looking after one little boy!” 

“—can’t believe we’re still even discussing—“ 

“ _Didn’t you see him, Sabé?_ Didn’t you see his back? How can you—?!”

“We’ll take him in shifts!”

“If I can handle _six brothers and sisters_ all below the age of twelve, I think I can manage—“   

“—needs _us_ , Sabé, not some random strangers! Family is what you make it!” 

“He stays,” Padmé said levelly, Amidala’s regal tone ringing out over the din of indignation surrounding her. “End of story. Sabé, I know you have your concerns, and I share them, I do. Truly, I do. And I promise you, we’ll work them out. But so long as I’m in office, Anakin is staying right here in the palace with me.” 

“And who’s to look after him, during that time?” Sabé said hotly, past caring that she was pushing it, now that the bonds of her frustration have finally broken loose. “Will we take him in turns as Eirtaé suggested? What about his education, can he read or write? Will someone have to watch over him all day, in case he has another seizure? Being so closely linked to the monarch will make him a target, what will you do if someone tries to abduct him—”

“We’ll hire a tutor,” Padmé snapped. “I’ll pay for one out of my own salary so that nothing will come directly from taxpayer revenue. A private tutor can work with Anakin to catch him up to his peers, and then, later on, he can enroll at Theed Academy if he likes. We’ll get him one of those service animals to stay with him at all times, in the event that he has a seizure. And we’ll not dwell on situations that haven’t even come up yet. If some other danger should ever befall him, we’ll cross that bridge when we get there—!” 

“—And what if he wakes up in the middle of the night from a nightmare,” Sabé cut her off. “Who will he run to, then? Whose bed will he crawl into? Who will tend to him when he’s sick? Who will make sure that he doesn’t walk around in the same clothes for four days straight? Who will watch him brush his teeth to make sure he does it properly? Who will keep track of all his doctor’s appointments and dental visits? Who will have the chefs make his favorite desserts when he has a bad day? Who will—“ 

“ _What would you have me do, Sabé?_ ” the Queen all but roared. Patience spent, she stood fists balled and teeth bared, ready to lunge if Sabé so much as made another peep. She’d done it now. “Wake Anakin up now and send him packing on an early morning transport to the Outer Rim? Back to his owner where he’ll be beaten and starved and worked to death if he’s lucky?!”

“Now you’re just being dramatic.” 

“No, _you’re_ being relentlessly difficult! You’re making this so much more complicated than it needs to be!”

“ _Children are complicated,_ Your Highness! And you have a planet to run!” 

“Oh thank you for that. I hadn’t realized.“ 

“Never once did I insinuate that we should send Anakin back to Tatooine, I merely suggested—“ 

“—That we send him away, which is an equally horrendous notion!” 

“It is not! There are thousands of families on Naboo looking to adopt children—!” 

“Yes, and they all want infants they can mold from birth, no child over five ever gets adopted out, and besides—!“ 

“That’s a horrible stereotype!”

“It’s a _true_ statistic, and besides that, we just got through an invasion, do you really think people are out there in droves looking to adopt at a time like this?!” 

“Yes, exactly right! We just got through an invasion, all the more reason you don’t need the distraction—!” 

“— _Ani wouldn’t be a distraction!”_

“He would, and if you were being honest with yourself, you’d see that. It’d be fairer to him to give him to someone who actually has the time for him!” 

“You mean, it’d be easier on me to let him rot in an orphanage when we’re perfectly capable of—“ 

“—We’re _not_ perfectly capable—“ 

“So I should just send him away, then?”

“If you want to simplify it like that, then--”

“QUIET!!” 

Sabé and Padmé jolted and turned, red-faced and panting to see Fé now standing before the two of them, hands on her hips and brow furrowed in agitation. It was rare for sweet Fé to shout at anyone, least of all Padmé, but she hated arguments, particularly amongst friends. Chastised by her disappointed glare, Sabé and Padmé sobered. Fé uncoiled a bit and moved in to separate them, drawing Padmé back down into the stool of her vanity. 

“I apologize for raising my voice, Your Highness, Sabé,” Fé said, unnecessarily. “But please, Ani’s asleep just down the hall. You’re going to wake him with your squabbling if you don’t settle down.”

“Too late,” Saché muttered, jerking her head toward the double doors of the Queen’s suite. The doors they’d unintentionally left cracked open. Just wide enough for them to catch a little blue eye poking through. 

Oh... _fuck_.

“Ani!” Motée yelped. The first of them to recover, she quickly made the doors, yanking open the one on the left to reveal a guilty-looking moppet standing awkwardly in the doorjamb. 

“What are you doing out of bed?” she asked a hand on her hip, her tone and stance taking on that stern eldest sister quality as she stepped back to allow the boy space to come further into the room. He didn’t move. 

Pale-faced, wild-eyed and stricken, Anakin stood frozen in the doorway to the Queen’s chambers, catatonic with the same tangible dread he’s been marinating in since he stepped off the transport platform this afternoon. Blue eyes locked on Padmé, growing steadily larger the more they filled with desperation. His hands were clasped together in front of him, as though in prayer; his lips trembled soundlessly. Sabé could see the words he was trying so hard to force through bubbling up his throat and it made her physically ache. Eight mutinous glares shoot in her direction all at once as she, Padmé, and the rest of the handmaidens all moved in to do damage control. Not surprisingly, Padmé was the first to find her voice. 

“Ani,” she said carefully, as she moved toward him. “I don’t know how much of that you heard, but Sabé and I were simply--” 

“I can fix things!” he blurted. Then, as though remembering something, slapped the back of his head and summarily _threw_ himself down on his knees before her. 

“I can fix things,” he began again in a choked voice. “And I can build them, too. I built a protocol droid once, I would have shown him to you but Watto made me sell him because I took the parts out of his trash. Iwouldn’tdothattoyouthoughPadme! I would never. I swear it!” 

“Ani,” Padmé said carefully, lowering herself down to the floor beside him. The look on her face already starting to match his. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding… 

“But I can fix anything and build anything you want me to,” he went on, steamrolling right over her, as though he hadn’t even heard her interrupt. “And I can race pods. I can win you a lot of money doing that. I promise I’ll never lose a race if I’m racing for you. Never! And I can speak Huttese and Bocce and Dug and Binary and Basic. And I know you already have droids for this, but I can clean, too. And cook! I used to help Mom in the kitchens back when we were Gardulla’s. I was real little back then, but I remember most--”

“Ani, please, you don’t--”  

“ _Please don’t give me away, Your Highness!_ ” Anakin wailed, asfat, bubbly tears streamed down his splotched up little face. “I’m sorry I ruined everything tonight! I didn’t mean too, honest! Please, believe me! I know I’m no good. I know I’m lazy and stupid and useless and a waste. I’m all broken up and I can’t do anything right and you have no reason to want me at all, really, but _please!_ I don’t think Watto will want me still if you give me back to him. H-he might take me down to the cantinas and sell me off for good, and then--. I’ll do anything, please. _I’ll do anything_. I don’t have to eat every day. You don’t need to waste water on me. And you saw where I used to sleep, I don’t need a bed, I don’t need anything, except you, because you’re the only person who likes me, and if you don’t want me anymore, I don’t know what I’ll do!” 

He ended his speech hunched over and blubbering into the carpet. The rest of them were rendered speechless. For several long moments, the entire room was silent save for Anakin’s sobs as they all scrambled internally to collect themselves and defuse the situation. 

Fé’s eyes were red from her scrubbing at them. Dormé, Rabé, Yané, Cordé and Eirtaé were all sending murderous **_See what you did!!_ ** scowls Sabé’s way. Saché looked ready to throttle someone, (most likely Sabé, if she had to guess). And Padmé, of course, had already regained her composure, and was now in damage control mode, The gears in her head churning away, trying to piece together just the right words to soothe Anakin’s fears. But Mottée beat her to him. 

Once again the first to fully recover, Mottée approached Anakin’s prone form swiftly, scooping him up and carrying him over to the chaise lounge by the door and taking a seat, settling Anakin in her lap. He went without protest, too deep into his meltdown by now to register that he was being held by someone. The rest of them watched apprehensively from the sidelines as the boy wept body shaking sobs into the crook of Mottée’s neck; each of them ready to jump in and offer additional support the minute either Mottée or Anakin looked as though they needed it. But Mottée, completely in her element, held them back. Perfectly calm, she cradled the distraught child to her breast and simply let him cry it all out; never once bothering to hush him as his sobs gradually faded to whimpers and then the occasional hiccup, until at last, the small, wet-faced little thing untucked himself from under her chin. Tense now, having realized he was in someone’s lap, and seemingly waiting in limbo for her to either give him another cuddle or toss him back down onto the floor. Sensing the mood shift, Mottée spoke up. 

“There now, sweet boy,” she cooed at him, brushing away the remainder of his tears with the pad of her thumb. “Have we truly been such awful company as to have you thinking the Queen brought you here to be some kind of slave?”  

Anakin blinked up at her, answering her rhetorical question with a confused whimper. She gave him a playful poke in the stomach that at least got him to crack a smile, then briefly turned her attention to the rest of them. 

“We certainly have a lot to make up for, don’t we, ladies?” 

A chorus of “Oh yes, definitely”s and “Absolutely!”s rang out on cue, and knowing who Anakin was really waiting final word from, they all turned expectantly to Padmé. Focus still set on Anakin, the Queen smiled sadly as she made her way over to where he and Mottée were still sitting. 

“Yes, we certainly do,” she said, crouching down in front of Mottée’s lap and reaching up to take Anakin’s small hands in hers’. 

“I’m so sorry, Ani,” she whispered, her voice cracking just a little bit. “I don’t know how much of mine and Sabé’s argument you heard, and I don’t know what Obi-Wan did or didn’t tell you before he sent you to us, but I should have been clear with you from the start. I should have made sure you knew what was happening, and I didn’t, and I’m sorry for that."

She took a deep breath and continued. “But Ani, I didn’t bring you here to Naboo to work, I brought you here to _live_.” 

Impossibly, the revelation caused Anakin's distress to intensify. He frowned down at his and Padmé’s joined hands and began to tremble.  

“I don’t get it.”

An equally distraught look flashed across Padmé’s face before it was quickly sealed behind a false Queenly calm.

“I didn’t buy you, Ani,” she tried again. 

“But Master Qui-Gon did,” Anakin reasoned. “He bought me from Watto to make me a Jedi, but the Jedi didn’t want me, so they gave me to you.”

Too horrified to speak, Padmé could do nothing but gape at him. Sensing their Queen’s distress, Sabé and the others tried to fill in the gaps.  

“No, little one,” said Mottée solemnly, hugging him to her again. “You’ve got it all wrong.”  

“Slavery is illegal in the Republic,” said Cordé. “And the Queen would _never_ —“ 

“You don’t belong to anyone, Ani,” Saché cut across her furiously. “Is that what the Jedi told you when they put you on the transport? That they were _transferring ownership?_ ”  

“N-no,” Anakin whispered, shrinking back against Mottée’s chest. “I-I just thought…” 

“I understand,” Padmé spoke up suddenly. Voice completely numb, her eyes wide with horror at whatever it was she’d just realized. “I understand now. Republic credits are worthless in the Outer Rim, Watto wouldn’t take them for the hyperdrive…or for you when Master Jinn asked to take you with us. But he’d make a trade for both. And so when we bet on you in the podrace for the hyperdrive and you won, we won the hyperdrive…and we won you, too. Oh, Ani…” 

She dropped her head for a moment, letting it hang in shame, and then she sprung up and reached for Anakin, taking him out of Mottée’s arms and bringing down him into hers’.  

“Listen to me,” she said, combing a hand through his hair. “You’re free now. You don’t belong to me or to the Jedi, or to Watto. The only person you belong to is yourself.” 

She paused for a second to thank Fé, who had gone to the ‘fresher to fetch a wet cloth for Anakin’s face and took it to dab at the dried tear streaks along the boy’s reddened cheeks. 

“Another thing,” the Queen added. “You are in no way useless, or lazy, or a waste. You, Anakin Skywalker, are one of the kindest, bravest, most selfless people I know. Without even knowing who I was, Ani, you went out of your way to ensure that I and my retinue had food and a place to stay when we were stranded on Tatooine. You helped us get off that blasted desert rock, without ever asking for anything in return. And then _on top of that,_ you helped me save my planet! Ani, I don’t understand how you could think so lowly of yourself!”  

Anakin shrank back again. “Sorry,” he mumbled into her nightdress.

“Don’t be,” she said, rubbing his back, gently so as not to aggravate the welts. “Is this about the Jedi?”

He flinched again, scrubbing impatiently at his eyes and bowing his head. 

Padmé’s brow furrowed. She tipped his chin up with the tip of her finger. “What is it? Tell me.”

Anakin shivered, squeezing his eyes shut as though in physical pain. 

“I’m dangerous, Padmé,” came the reluctant reply.

If Sabé weren’t already skating on thin ice, she would have laughed out loud. Looking around at everyone else’s reaction, she could see they were all finally on the same page. _Anakin?_ Dangerous? The sweet little boy who was afraid to eat, didn’t think he was good enough to sleep in a real bed and apologized after every other word, _dangerous?_ Who in the galaxy could even…?

“Who told you that?” Padmé demanded, expertly keeping the heat from her voice. “Surely not the Jedi?” 

Anakin nodded, still refusing to look up at her. “They looked and said I’ve got too much fear in me. Too much anger. They said it’ll make me go Dark one day.” 

“That’s preposterous!” Padmé and Eirtaé both said at once. 

Sabé felt herself draw in a sharp breath as she and the others chimed in with their agreement. She looked around and saw Mottée instinctively reaching down for Anakin, who was unconsciously drawn back by Padmé, who was now clutching him even tighter to her. Saché, meanwhile looked ready to throw something, while the rest were all wearing the same deadly expressions Sabé had seen them wear during combat training. Luckily, there weren’t any Jedi in the room. 

“To be angry is to be human, Ani,” Padmé said, calmer than she looked. “The same with fear, They’re perfectly natural emotions. There’s no shame in feeling them, and certainly nothing that would send you down a dark path.” 

“But there’s gotta be something wrong with me!” Anakin protested. “The Jedi are the wisest, bravest people in the galaxy! They know everything! If-if they say there’s something wrong—“ 

“No,” Padmé said flatly. “I don’t care who they are, Ani, anyone who looks at you and only sees darkness is wrong, and that’s all there is to it.”

She pulled back from him, then, and tipped his head back so that she could look him in the eye.  

“Do you want to know what I see when I look at you?” she smiled. “I see the first ever human to win the Boonta Eve Classic. I see a genius mechanic. I see the most special little boy I’ve ever been privileged to know. I see—“ 

“A giver,” Mottée cut in, coming down off the lounge to sit by Padmé. “You spent the whole day doing your best to take as little for yourself as possible. Selflessness is an admirable quality, Ani, but you don’t need to take it so far as denying your right to food, is that clear?” 

“I see an unbreakable heart,” said Fé, taking a seat on Padmé’s other side. “Not many people can survive what you’ve endured, Ani and manage to still care for others as openly as you do.”  

“I see a boy who knows how to think on his feet,” said Rabé, also joining them by the foot of the chaise lounge. “That was some list you came up with on the spot a little while ago, Ani, even if it was unneeded.”  

“I see a budding starpilot,” Saché smirked, the next to join their little circle. “I heard the officers of the Royal fleet haven’t stopped talking about that stunt you pulled with the Trade Federation. They’re very eager to have the chance to meet you, you know.”  

“I see a little jeweler in the making,” Cordé laughed, fingering the pendant around Padmé’s neck that Anakin had carved for her. “You’ll make me one like this, won’t you?” she joked. 

“I see a boy with an immeasurable sense of loyalty,” said Eirtaé, coming around and setting a hand on Anakin’s shoulder. “You were ready to risk everything for the Queen when you’d only just met her. I think you deserve some of that devotion back from us, don’t you?”

“I see someone who knows how to appreciate the little things,” smiled Yané. “Theed palace is filled with priceless works of art and rare antiques. But the thing you were most pleased with, Ani was the water and the glass it came in. It’s rare to see such temperance, especially in someone so young.” 

“I see the most polite child—no, the most polite _person_ I’ve ever met,” said Dormé. “Nothing but ‘pleases’ and ‘thank you’s out of you all day, Ani. It’s very sweet, but you don’t have to apologize so much, you know.”   

Still leaned up against Padmé, Anakin smiled softly up at each of them, offering up a shy, but heartfelt “thank you” to each of them individually after they were through their short speeches. Padmé, too, beamed up at each one of them in thanks. 

And then everyone’s eyes settled on Sabé. 

She considered rolling her eyes at them, but thought better of it and simply shook her head as she came over to join the rest of them crowded around Padmé and Anakin on the floor. Her fellow handmaidens eyed her warningly, and she sent them a simpering smile. Honestly, what were they expecting? 

“I see a little boy who needs a home,” she said, kindly, but with all the solemnity she’d brought to her argument with Padmé. “I see a little boy who deserves nothing but the absolute best out of life, especially after all he’s given and all he’s lost. Ani, Padmé and I weren’t talking about sending you back to Tatooine, no one here wants that, I can assure you. What we were discussing was whether or not you coming to live in the palace would be best for you.”

“I don’t want to be a problem,” Anakin said in a small voice, his eyes once again darting to the floor. 

“You won’t be,” Sabé and Padmé said quickly. Padmé looked at her in shock. Sabé ignored her. 

“When it comes to a child’s welfare, the child in question is _never_ the problem,” she said. 

“I don’t get it,” said Anakin. 

“I know,” said Sabé. “You don’t have to because it’s irrelevant now. The Queen has decided you’re to stay here, and that’s that. I had my reservations before, but if we can’t even trust the Jedi to treat you the way you deserve to be, I think the best place for you is right here with us. Welcome home, Ani.”

A near sentient wave of relief swept through the room then, as everyone in it released a long-held breath. Padmé set a hand on her shoulder and squeezed, letting Sabé know there were no hard feelings and Sabé smiled back at her in return. She hadn’t expected there to be any residual tension between them once the argument was won, but neither had she expected to be the one to give in. But surprisingly, she didn’t regret it. She meant what she’d said. Though she still had her own reservations as far as the logistics of Anakin’s care was concerned, she could see now why Padmé had been so eager to bring him to live in the palace. It hadn’t been that she wasn’t thinking clearly, or that she didn’t know how difficult a responsibility it would be, it was that Anakin needed to feel safe. That he needed to be with people who understood him, who cared for him, who wanted him for himself and not for what he could offer them. There was no one the Queen trusted to give him that more than herself. And now, Sabé had to agree. There was no safer place for Anakin than right there, in Padmé’s arms. 

The only person who seemed the least bit unsure of that now was the little boy in question.  

“So…” he frowned. “So, it’s really, really okay for me to stay here?” 

“Yes,” Padmé said. 

“Most definitely,” Eirtaé added.

“We wouldn’t have it any other way,” said Mottée, ruffling his hair.  

“For good?” he asked softly.  

“For good,” Saché told him. 

He flashed her a tiny grin before it just as quickly fell away to yet another worry. “Even though there’s not a job for me to do?”

“Your job is to be Ani,” said Fé. “That’s a pretty important job, I think.” 

Anakin shook his head. “I don’t think so,” he mumbled, worry giving way to confusion.  

“It is,” said Rabé. “The most important. It’s such a big job, we’re all going to have to work together to make sure we get it exactly right. Do you think you can help us with that, Ani?”

Anakin blushed. Tucked under Padmé’s chin he let himself sag against her as her arms came up to support him. His eyes turned up at her, then around at them all. Quietly, he said, “All right.” 

“Good,” Padmé said, hugging him to her. “It’s settled then. From now on, you’re not ever to worry about being sent away or not being good enough for us or anything like that, because you’ll always have a place amongst us, Ani.” 

“Always,” Sabé echoed. “You’ve got us, and we’ve got you. Remember that.” 

She sat up on her knees then in order to reach over to ruffle Anakin’s hair, her own hand sweeping over Mottée’s in the process. Padmé caught her eye as she did this and raised an eyebrow at her. 

_See?_ _It won’t be so hard after all, now will it._

Sabé rolled her eyes back at her. 

_Whatever. Like I said, we’ve got him._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm both excited and terrified to post this chapter as it is, as I've only just finished it, and it's rare for me to post something so soon after having written it. But I'm very anxious to hear what you all think of it.
> 
> Next up, the long awaited return of We Shall All Be Healed. No set timelines, for this one, as I've learned my lesson about giving hard dates for postings. But I hope to have it done soon.

**Author's Note:**

> Please, feed me comments? It's ass o'clock in the morning and I haven't even had dinner yet because I spent all night writing fic **sad puppy eyes**


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